For Once In My Life: An absolutely perfect laugh-out-loud romantic comedy

by Colleen Coleman

  I shut my eyes and dig my fingers in to my palms and try to digest what my mother is actually telling me. She was responsible for me being ditched at the altar?

  Am I seriously hearing this?

  I press my wrists to my temples and shut my eyes.

  I don’t want to hear any more.

  I don’t want to know any more.

  I want to turn on my heel and slam the door behind me and run. Run into the drive. Run into the field. Run into wide-open spaces where there is no one to see and no one to be seen by. But what then? Eventually, I’ll have to come back. Come back to her and to this. And it will keep chasing me until I deal with it. Until it’s over with for once and for all. But how? How do I even begin to find the words?

  I swallow, but it won’t go down.

  I try again, but this time… this time I lose control. It appears the words have found their own way out.

  ‘Just tell me one thing. ONE THING. What kind of a mother are you? I don’t even know why I call you mother, you don’t deserve it. I mean it, Marilyn. What kind of a real mother does that? What kind of a mother takes pleasure in abandoning their child, then showing up again years later to destroy everything that’s good in her daughter’s life? Tell me? TELL ME! Because I’m seriously struggling to understand.’

  She takes a breath but keeps her eyes on me.

  ‘Firstly, I take no pleasure in any of this, Lily. Of course, it would have been easier to turn a blind eye, of course it would have been easier to watch you walk down the aisle and look into his eyes and promise to love him forever. Of course, it would have been easier to raise a glass of champagne to your long happy lives together and wish you laughter and babies and a big house and loving stable family. But I couldn’t. I couldn’t let you sign up to a lie. I couldn’t let them fool you like that. I know you may never understand, but I could tell, believe me, I could tell where this was heading. It was all wrong.’

  My mother runs her fingers through her hair and talks a long, deep breath. ‘You can’t out-sneak a sneak. You can’t out-cheat a cheat.’

  She’s talking in riddles now. I have lost her. I am lost.

  ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘Me. Me and your father. He was married. He was a cheat. So was I. He made promises he didn’t keep. So did I. Once you’ve been there, once you’ve been that person, believe me, you know the signs, you pick up on the clues, it takes one to know one and I saw it clear as day between Hannah and Adam.’

  ‘You mean you caught them together?’

  ‘In a way. I caught some long glances, the way he straightened up when she was around. The way she avoided his eyes when he was close and then followed him transfixed when he moved away. I hoped I was imagining things, being my paranoid, overdramatic self, hoping that was the case.’

  I slide down the wall to the ground.

  I’d had no idea. NO idea about Hannah or Adam being together, or that Mum knew. If she’d picked up on it, does that mean everyone had? Was I that blind? That stupid? Was it so obvious that everyone knew except me? Or did I suspect that something wasn’t right but I glossed over it because I was so caught up in the wedding? So reluctant to confront Adam about anything?

  I shake my head. ‘But we hung out together all the time. How could I not have seen it if it was so obvious to everyone else?’

  ‘I kept a very close watch on both of them, but they were even less careful, which made me think that things had reached a new level. When he left the room, she was restless until he returned. When Hannah was in conversation with someone, it was obvious she was only half listening, her attention always cocked in his direction. Hannah was the one I confronted first after the final rehearsal.’

  ‘The night before the wedding?’

  ‘Yes. I followed her in to the garden. Told her I knew. She didn’t even try to deny it. She burst out crying. I told her that she was a bitch.’

  ‘Mum! You didn’t!’

  ‘Lily she was sleeping with your fiancé for God’s sake!’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She said it was all one big awful accident. It started as a drunken kiss on New Year’s Eve and then it had spiralled. But she promised that it was finished. It wouldn’t happen again.’

  I remember the night that I stayed late at the Gazette to hit a deadline and told Adam to go a party without me. He came in at 4 a.m. legless. He had an excessive hangover the next day. He was excessively nice to me. As was Hannah. Looking back, I knew something had happened that night.

  ‘She promised me it was over. I told her it better be. She made me promise never to tell you.’

  ‘And did you promise?’

  Mum raises her eyebrow. ‘No! Since when do I make promises?’

  I nearly smile. ‘But you didn’t tell me. You should have told me! If you had then I’d never have made it up that bloody aisle in the first place! I could have spared myself complete humiliation!’

  ‘But how could I, Lily? I didn’t want to screw everything up. I know people make mistakes. I know people fuck up – I had to give them the benefit of the doubt. Hannah promised me it was over. She told me she was sorry, that Adam was choosing you.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I wanted to believe it, I mean, I even prayed that it was over between them and that things were fixed and could proceed as intended. But I needed to make sure. So the next morning, the morning of the wedding, about an hour before breakfast, I hopped in the car, knocked at Adam’s hotel room door and who did I discover there?’

  ‘Hannah,’ I say. Okay. This is all starting to make sense.

  My mother bites down on her lip. ‘Adam tried to make up all sorts of bullshit excuses why she was there; everything from lost rings to rehearsing wedding speeches. But Hannah said, “It’s no use, Adam, she knows.” I lost my shit and told him that he was a snivelling excuse of a man not worthy of my daughter and that the least he could do was spare you further hurt and call off the wedding. Time to come clean. There was no way in hell he was dragging my daughter into a life of lies and STIs.’

  Oh my God.

  ‘So Hannah fled, she couldn’t take it.’

  ‘Granny said she’d come down with a gastric bug. Vomiting and diarrhoea.’

  ‘Verbal diarrhoea perhaps. And Adam promised me that he’d tell you. Face to face. At your hotel. Straight away. But he didn’t, of course, the coward he was. He thought I’d let him off the hook, bow to the pressure of the day. But I waited at the church steps, collared him and warned him that if he didn’t call this bullshit off, I would. He waited right until the last moment to come clean. Believe me, if I hadn’t been hovering, the bastard would have married you, Lily, and he would have broken your heart into pieces.’

  ‘So that explains it. It explains it all. I never knew why he chose that moment to tell me. He had a gun to his head.’

  ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know it was harsh and I understand if you hate me. But I thought it was better that you hate me than you spend your life with the wrong person. But I need you to know that I love you. And I know how it must look, but I promise you everything I’ve done, I’ve done because I love you more than myself… and I couldn’t bear to see you get hurt.’

  She reaches out her hand and I take it. I sit beside her and curl into her, finally realising that my mother did it for me, to protect me. All my life I spent thinking that my mother only cares for herself but now I’m starting to appreciate that’s not the case.

  ‘I’ll never forget the day I found out I was going to be a mother. Your granny freaked, of course. But I refused to tell anyone who the father was. Refused all help. I was so sure I could do it all by myself. Growing you inside me made me feel so powerful, so complete. I’ll never forget the first time I felt you kick. I’ll never forget the first time I heard you cry. It was as if time stood still for just a moment as you entered the world. I’ll never forget our heartbeats synchronised the first time I held you. You were breath-taking. The most beautiful perfec
t creature I’d ever seen. I never knew I could love anyone so much, so instantly, so infinitely. I’ll never forget that joy when I heard you say “mummy” that first time. Hearing that from your lips was music to my ears.’

  I close my eyes and let the tears fall. Breathing in the scent of my mother. Listening to our breath and our hearts synchronise now. Whatever she’s done, she’s my mother. And everything she’s done, I realise it’s because she’s my mother, that both our lives are irrevocably intertwined because I am hers and she is mine and, no matter what, we need each other. We have a special love that we both need, that makes us better, that makes us complete.

  God, I have missed her. I don’t want to lose anybody else. I can’t afford to.

  ‘One day I want you to find love and happiness, but until then, never forget that I was the first person you loved, kissed, held hands with, and sought out in the night. And only your granny was a person worthy enough to take my place. Not Adam. One day, there’ll be someone good enough, worthy enough.’

  I feel tears pool again. ‘I used to think so. But it’s happened again, Mum. I got sucked in and fell completely head over heels in love and dared think that it might go somewhere, that it might blossom into something, but it’s over. Already. Just like that. I just can’t seem to hang on to anything,’ I confess.

  ‘Was that the person at the door?’ she asks me.

  I nod. ‘His name was Christopher. And I’ve managed to lose him too; it’s all my fault.’

  ‘Enough of that, Lily, it’s not your fault.’

  ‘But it must be! How many other people do you know who have been dumped so badly? I mean, if it’s not my fault, why did you leave me? Was I holding you back? Did I do something wrong?’ A vision of a lone rock bearing my name on it floods my mind’s eye.

  She wraps her arms around me and hugs me tightly. ‘No! No, no way. Why would you think that? I went away to protect you. To give you a better life, one that I couldn’t give you by myself. Because it was for the best. It was for your best. It was hard, but it was worth it, I am so proud of you and who you have evolved into.’

  ‘But I saw my name written on a rock, one of your regret rocks.’

  The words come out faster than I can stop them. I’ve wanted to ask this question from the moment I saw the photo she sent me, but I never really believed I’d have the guts to say it. I never really thought I’d have the guts to hear the answer.

  She loops a strand of my hair around her finger, blinking back tears. ‘I wrote your name on that rock because I regretted how I’ve treated you. How can you think I regret you? Oh, my darling, you are the single thing in my life that I am proud of. And the regrets I have are all about me and how I’ve acted. Things I’ve said and done to you that I really, really wish never happened. And the things I’ve failed to say and do. They’re what I regret the most. So let me start right now, baby. I am sorry. So, so sorry.’

  And now I am rubbing my mother’s back, shushing her but letting her cry. Telling her it’s okay, that I understand. Because, in a way, I kind of feel like I do now.

  I’m starting to understand the kind of mother she is. Fierce. Fierce and raw and flawed and selfless and trying to do her best to protect me from anything that could hurt me – even if that’s herself.

  ‘It’s okay. I get it now. It makes sense. It all makes sense.’

  She smiles and rubs her eyes. ‘The morning I left, I remember you waking up and running to my side of the bed giddy with excitement, reminding me that it was the first day of the new school year. I will never forget you climbing into bed with me and holding me even tighter than usual as if you knew that things were about to change. That morning I helped you get ready and packed your lunch, dropped you at school and you ran off after saying goodbye without looking back. You were so brave. And I could see that you were happy. And I just sat and cried to myself through the school fence because I knew that it marked the first time in your life that you’d start making memories without me. I knew I was going to miss you unbearably. And I was right, I did. Every day. Every second of every day. But for once in my sucky, selfish life, I was putting someone else before myself. And the only person I’ve ever managed to do that for is you.

  ‘I had second thoughts when it became real, I thought, no, it’s going to be too painful leaving you. That I should stay. But I was out of my depth, I couldn’t take care of myself very well, never mind a child. So I stood by that fence watching you with your new friends practising the monkey bars. So strong and determined. And it was at that moment that I knew you were going to be okay and I realised that this day was going to be much harder for me than it was going to be for you. And even though a part of me wished I could have taken you away with me, I knew I had to let go and leave you to be who you were meant to be.’

  I always thought my mother leaving me behind with my granny was selfish. But I see now that it was the opposite that’s true. That she made the ultimate sacrifice, breaking her own heart to see that I grew up in a peaceful home with a loving grandmother. And she did the right thing. A very selfless thing. And maybe someday, I can find it in myself to do something as selfless as that for somebody else.

  We stay curled up on the bed together for what feels like hours. Talking and laughing and singing old songs we used to sing. I hear Mum’s tummy rumble and realise it’s past dinnertime. I order a delivery and then as I root around my bag for change, my trusty black marker pen finds its way into my hand.

  ‘I have an idea while we wait,’ I tell her, twirling the felt tip in my fingers. ‘How about we go throw some rocks?’

  Twenty-Six

  I wake up the next morning expecting to feel a rough tongue in my ear and some soft purring reminding me to get up and get started. But I can’t find Chaplin anywhere. Mum let me sleep and has already put out his breakfast, but his water bowl is still full, his food untouched. I check all his favourite little hidey-places – under my bed, in the corner of my wardrobe, in my left red Converse, under the rose bush, by the fire.

  Nowhere. My little Chaplin is nowhere to be found.

  Thank goodness I’m working from home today given Mum’s return. I’ll have to find him. Call out a search party. Take out a double-page spread in the Gazette. I can’t lose Chaplin. He’s got to be here somewhere. I stand by the door and listen out for some kind of hint or clue, hoping for mewling under my car, but again nothing. The only sounds are some birds, barking dogs from the nearby farm and Mum singing along to a crackling record player out back. It’s Stevie Wonder and Etta James. I can expect some Aretha in the next hour.

  This is a good sign for her, of course. Anytime she gets back to being creative, she gets back to being herself. Her best self.

  But as for little Chaplin, I’m still at a loss.

  I know I’m going to have to walk down the path to the gate. And from there it’s straight on to the road. We’re not known for our traffic jams around these parts, nor is this exactly a Formula One circuit, but that can lull people and animals alike in to a false sense of security, believing the roads are deserted and next thing a huge four-wheel tractor takes the bend unexpectedly and that’s how accidents happen.

  Oh please no. Maybe I should have kept him inside? Maybe I should have curbed his freedom more?

  I can’t face it if I find Chaplin… unalive.

  My stomach lurches at the thought.

  So, I turn back on my heel and into the house and start calling him again, deciding to check the garden one more time.

  ‘Still no sign?’ Mum says as she wraps her arm around my waist. I know I don’t have to explain to Mum about losing an animal. There are tears in her eyes and she’s only known him since yesterday. ‘I’m sorry, sweetheart.’

  Neither of us want to cry. ‘Come in and have some lunch. Don’t wait out here too long, baby, you’ll catch your death of cold,’ says Mum as she walks back towards the house. I blink back tears and turn away towards the fields. I just want a second to compose myself, and that’s
when I see it.

  A long dark plume of smoke from the chimney of the cottage across the field. Which can only mean one thing.

  Mr Clark is home.

  Twenty-Seven

  ‘Hello? Mr Clark?’ It’s me, Lily? From the newspaper?’

  I knock on the door a little louder and I hear some slow activity inside. I huddle my coat around my shoulders. The wind is picking up and I am certain there will be a storm any minute. But then the door opens and there stands Mr Clark, who, despite the gauze bandage around his head, looks much stronger and healthier – and more awake – than the last time I saw him.

  ‘Welcome home!’ I say as he ushers me in.

  ‘Thank you. I just got discharged this morning. Nice to be home. And thank you for your texts and updates on Chaplin. It was very nice of you to think of doing so.’

  I just hope the news about Chaplin doesn’t send him back to hospital. How can I tell him I’m here because I’ve lost his cat? That’s some update.

  The fire is crackling and he invites me to make a seat.

  ‘Tea?’ he asks.

  ‘Oh, yes please. It’s freezing out there.’

  I look around the little cottage belonging to Mr Clark. Sepia photos lined up along the dresser in the living room. A picture of Mr Clark with a wife, a son. A proud photo with a teenager dressed as Fagan from Oliver Twist, full of smiles and stage make-up.

  ‘Theatregoer I see?’ I ask him when he returns with a cup of tea and a plate of plain digestives for us to share. ‘Have you been to the Newbridge theatre lately? You know they’ve got a new director, Julian somebody, and he’s really upped their game.’

  Mr Clark walks over to the photo and nods his head. ‘They’re running Midsummer Night’s Dream from next week.’ Mr Clark runs a thumb over the frame of the photo, dislodging some dust. He pauses another moment, then clears his throat before turning back to me. ‘I suppose you’re here to get the scoop on the lottery win. Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to disappoint you. I’m going to stay anonymous.’